


white tulips mean apology

by darlingdreamer21



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Fluff, Hinata Shouyou is the bane of Tsukishima's existence, M/M, Punk Yamaguchi Tadashi, Tattoo Artist Tsukishima Kei, Tsukishima is a big fat mess for Yamaguchi, What else is new, akisae are married, iwaizumi has a unique pet, kuroo bokuto kogane oikawa and akiteru are metioned, there is also just a sliver of ennoshita and hoshiumi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:55:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27697943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingdreamer21/pseuds/darlingdreamer21
Summary: Hi! In case you’re confused, I’m the guy that almost knocked you over with my motorbike. I bothered with these formalities because I wasn’t confident in my apologies this morning so here it is!I’m really sorry! It would’ve been bad if you got hit hahaP.S. – Pls accept the flowers, I arranged them myself. White tulips mean apology in floral language according to Sugawara-kun, idk much about that (￣▽￣*)ゞMy name is Yamaguchi Tadashi btw, and I sent these flowers over when I found out you work here (I wasn’t keeping tabs on you! I just saw you enter the tattoo parlour! And one of my co-workers knows yours)Or an almost-road-accident and one stray python was probably the last thing Tsukishima thought would benefit in leading him to the attractive florist next door.
Relationships: Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 109
Collections: Yamaguchi Week 2020





	white tulips mean apology

**Author's Note:**

> I seriously had so much fun writing this AU and I also have to admit, I felt like a sadist putting Tsukki in various perilistic situations and enjoyed his distress
> 
> *inserts evil laughter* 
> 
> Anyway all's well that ends well! Also this is an entry for Yamaguchi Week, for which I combined the prompts: Flowers, Pets, Tattoo parlour & Flower shop AU and Punk.  
> Thanks to my indecisive and procrastinating ass, its super super late haha. 
> 
> But by all means, enjoy my second fanfiction :)

_It was around 2:30 p.m., and the afternoon atmosphere draped like a comfortable blanket over everything. This was the time where they rarely had any customers, giving the people in The Clipped Wing Crow’s tattoo parlour a break._

_Over by the couch, Tsukishima spotted a mop of orange hair accompanied by loud snores; Terushima whistled a merry tune as he leaned against the sleeping figure of Hinata and flipped through the pages of a volleyball magazine. Saeko had proceeded to rush back to her house after a distressed Akiteru called up, enquiring whether or not she had the keys to their apartment (sometimes Tsukishima marvelled how a couple could be this dysfunctional). Kenma, Tsukishima suspected, probably hadn’t stirred from his place by the receptionist’s desk. Iwaizumi had stepped outside for a smoke and still hadn’t returned._

_Tsukishima was partly relieved for the quiet afternoon, which was a first without Hinata’s unintelligent preferences for onomatopoeia or Saeko’s loud remarks. He worked at polishing the window in the “Employees Only” Room (or as Hinata liked to call the ‘Tension Room’ ever since the Great Iwaizumi-Oikawa Spat) relishing the peace around him._

_When Tsukishima heard the bright shrieks and squabbles of toddlers outside, he scowled down at the microfiber cloth clutched purposefully in his hand and then scanned where the commotion had come from. A gaggle of scruffy elementary schoolers along with two women, had crowded together at the neighbouring flower shop’s entrance. Tsukishima had half a mind to snap at them when someone stepped outside the flower shop._

_Even from where he stood, Tsukishima could see the amber of the afternoon sun reflect picturesquely off of the newcomer’s dark hair. The man was tall, maybe not as tall as Tsukishima, but he still towered considerably over the two older women who now tried to hold back the overenthusiastic toddlers. The row of piercings on his right ear glinted sharply as he regarded the scene before him in unbridled amusement._

_When one of those children barked out something, the florist chuckled—his shoulders shook lightly and he brought one hand up to his mouth. He exchanged a few words with the mothers (Tsukishima presumed) grinned at them and stepped back inside the shop. Tsukishima felt something churn inside his stomach violently; the feeling wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but he definitely wasn’t fond of the development. He wanted to force his eyes to look away, he_ really _did. But the stubborn gear inside his head refused to turn the way he fancied._

_The piercings-man appeared at the entrance the second time that afternoon, but this time he held a little wicker basket with sunflowers, daisies and ferns arranged carefully in it. He presented it to the children, the soft smile he wore unwavering. A little girl amongst them plucked a sunflower from the basket, and offered it to the florist shyly, mumbling incoherently. A faint look of surprise washed over the other man’s face which morphed quickly into a giddy one._

_He kneeled down and took the flower from the girl and spoke a few words of acknowledgement, making the girl hide her face in her mother’s skirt in—what Tsukishima deciphered—diffidence. The man laughed once again (and Tsukishima felt like someone had dropped an anvil inside his system) and delicately positioned the flower behind his ear. Whatever happened next did not matter to Tsukishima; it was as if his brain had stopped functioning and the only thing that he could see was the florist’s ecstatic face, his godforsaken piercings and the stupid sunflower behind his ear which accentuated his beauty._

_(he_ did not _like this feeling_ one bit _)_

_Suddenly, as if he felt the extra pair of eyes boring on him, Sunflower Man (he was starting to sound like his sister-in-law) glanced at his direction. Tsukishima ducked away from the window, where he had been gawking from like a creep, with lightning-fast speed. His heart shuddered irregularly and threatened to jump out of his chest. Thankfully, it took only about a few minutes to calm his raging pulse and cool down his flushed face._

_“Tsukishima!”_

_Iwaizumi had returned from his smoke break. Tsukishima shook himself out his stupor and called back, “Coming!”, and hurried out of the Tension Room._

Did that guy notice me? _Throughout the rest of the day, the thought gnawed away inside his head like a pesky bug._

_-_

The Clipped Wing Crow tattoo parlour and The Bouquet of Love flower store had had a not-so-very-long withstanding rivalry since the day Hinata Shoyo thought it was a good idea to tease one of the employees in the neighbouring store for his uptight behaviour.

Initially, the other guy (tall and dark-haired, about their age with a scowl which appeared to be stitched on to his face) had chosen to ignore Hinata’s taunts. But he soon crossed the line after he pointed out that the florist (his name was apparently Kageyama) ‘smiled like a middle-aged perv’.

What resulted was a full-fledged fist fight (which the ash-haired florist named Sugawara further egged on by chanting “FIGHT-OH! FIGHT-OH! FIGHT-OH!”) which could be stopped only when Iwaizumi and Akaashi—Kageyama’s boss—had intervened. This finally forced Iwaizumi to take the last call: he asked Tsukishima to babysit the shrimp-sized dimwit and ensure that such similar “accidents” did not occur again.

Though an encounter with Hinata was inevitable, his new schedule demanded him to wake up at the ass crack of dawn every single weekday, take the highly-indecisive morning bus (as opposed to his previously convenient afternoon train ride) in order to reach the parlour first along with Hinata, and prep up the place for the day ahead.

The only good thing he got out of the arrangement, was that every single morning a half hour or so after Tsukishima arrived —not that he checked—his ears would pick up the quiet purr of a motorbike engine outside on the street. Not many days after his morning shift began, Tsukishima had found out that the attractive florist next door arrived by a motorbike. Whenever he got the chance to spare a glance outside their shop window, through gaps between the shelf stacked with aftercare salves, he would see the other man dismount from his jet-black ride, carefully unfastening his helmet and adjusting his ruffled hair.

One time he almost got caught at his disturbing morning ritual by his fellow apprentice, who materialized beside him in a cacophony of unintelligible words and over-expressive squawks, causing him to startle violently.

(Since then, he avoided peeping out again lest someone caught him for real. The last thing he wanted was either of his colleagues meddling with Tsukishima’s _miniscule_ infatuation with another person because one way or the other, this would mean that Saeko would find out, which would ultimately lead to a middle-of-the-night phone call from his big brother who would sob and pronounce that he was _so damn proud of his little brother, and oh how about the four of them go on a double date._ )

Then once again, it was probably an unspoken rule of the universe that avoiding the person one truly wanted to avoid was frankly, quite the Herculean task.

-

Tsukishima’s morning had already gotten off on the wrong note. He had spent the night before tossing and turning on his bed, his eyes refusing to droop despite his mental fatigue after a long day. And when he actually _did_ get time to rest and wake up to an eerily calm room, he realised that he had slept through his alarm and was late for work.

The next one hour was pure chaos; they had run out of coffee, Tsukishima had plugged his drained-out cell phone for charging but had forgotten to turn on the switch, and lastly, his roommate had chosen exactly that day to spend a whole fifty-five minutes in the shower. He had to forgo his own shower, instead opting to spritz his neck and underarms with deodorant, and bolted out of his apartment, albeit stumbling pathetically at the doorstep. His excruciating journey to work was accented by missing the last bus and running like a madman.

He shoved through crowds (no regrets there), almost stepped on a stray cat’s tail and risked barrelling across a vehicle-dense street at a green light (Saeko’s reckless nature was _definitely_ rubbing off on him). He stopped to take a breather only when he spotted the LED sign board sporting “The Clipped Wing Crow” in bold vintage lettering. Tsukishima looked down at the wristwatch (a hideous one gifted by Kuroo Tetsurou—his old volleyball teammate and captain back from highschool, though he never preferred to wear watches but seeing as his phone was dead, it had left him with no other choice) and let out a huff of relief.

He was late for sure, but not _as_ late as Kenma, who was quite often used by the others as a measurement unit to determine how late they were—which the receptionist was not at all fond of.

Several things occurred at once when Tsukishima crossed the road to reach the other side: the pedestrian signal turned green, he heard an unpleasant screech and a shocked gasp, his vision was suddenly obstructed. His knees buckled underneath him as he felt a hard knock, causing him to topple backwards. Promptly, a strong grip wrapped around his elbow, effectively preventing the fall.

_I almost got hit by a vehicle._

It took Tsukishima about two minutes to gather his wits. He was saved by a hair’s breadth from being injured. _Anyway, who the hell speeds a fucking motorbike when the pedestrians had to cross. And to think I was saved by the same blockhead—_

“A-are you ok?! I’m so sorry, I didn’t notice you until the last minute! Fuck, I’m so careless! Are you injured? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

Before the other person could verbally ram Tsukishima’s woozy head further, he held up a trembling hand which thankfully stopped the onslaught of garbled speech. He steadied himself up and stretched out both of his legs. Good, none of them were broken. They were mostly unscathed save for probably a graze on both his knees. His arms seemed fine as well. Things could’ve been much worse, had he hurried over a second too late. The biker, he remembered. _I guess I should thank him for not running me over,_ he sighed internally.

“Well, _thank you–”_ he began, his voice dripping with barely concealed sarcasm, and turned to look up at the other person– “for reaching out in time and—”

Tsukishima inhaled sharply as he raked his eyes at the agitated man half-perched-half-hovering over the motorbike’s leather seat, the same man he had spent over a month reluctantly daydreaming of. Tsukishima blinked a bit and just about scrubbed at his eyes to clarify. No, there was no doubt it was _him_. The Sunflower Man. The beautiful florist working at the Bouquet of Love. Tsukishima recognised those silver piercings on his right ear, the dark, dark hair nearing a juniper sheen, tied in a low ponytail, and _heaven’s sake were they_ freckles _on his face?_

“Please don’t thank me or anything. My mind wasn’t on the road, I lost focus. I’m terribly sorry.”

“Erkh.”

 _Fuck_.

“Pardon? I didn’t get that.”

Of all the people who could’ve been driving the motorbike, it _had_ to be the one he was infatuated with. He deliberated for a moment what he had done to provoke his karma to turn against him. Also, he perceived, he had remained quiet for too long and prompted the air between the two of them to turn awkward. He locked eyes with the florist’s dark umber ones. The other man appeared mildly unnerved by Tsukishima’s abrupt shift, his right eyebrow twitched and his thin lips parted.

Before, whenever Tsukishima regarded the florist, he would conjure the image of a seasoned brawler given his attire (a theory squashed by the man in question himself at their first one-sided encounter, but that wasn’t of importance) with an aura of assertiveness—much like the actual manager of the Clipped Wing Crow, Ukai, an allegedly tough-skinned delinquent who sold questionable stuff underground (a preposterous rumour by Hinata, further fostered by Terushima). But now that he had _truly_ encountered him minus stealthy casement manoeuvres, he now concluded that Sunflower Man was more like a kicked puppy. Normally, he would be put off by this observation, but for some reason it only intrigued him more. _Now that’s new._

“Try not to be so absent-minded the next time you drive, at least it would save a life.”

Sunflower Man looked as though he had been punched hard in the gut. Tsukishima bit his tongue furiously enough to wince. What the hell was he thinking? What the hell did he say? He had succeeded in accelerating the other man’s feeling of resentment and revulsion towards him. _Wait, it is not as if I care_ (white lie). The biker coughed soundlessly into his closed fist and Tsukishima expected the worst.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”

The man wore a sheepish smile, his right forefinger brought up to scuff gingerly at his cheek. “But other than that, are you fine?” The transition of the guy’s expression from contrite to concerned caught Tsukishima thoroughly off-guard the third time that morning. “Yeah. I mean, I’m fine. Just a few scratches on my legs I suppose.” He cleared his throat and braced his tone. “You needn’t mind me now. I’m only bothering you.”

The other man laughed softly, and Tsukishima’s traitorous heart palpitated at the sound. He desperately hoped that his ear tips wouldn’t pinken like they usually did whenever he got flustered. He doubted he could handle the embarrassment.

Instead, he cocked an eyebrow and prodded, “What’s so funny?” The florist shook his head hastily, “No, it’s just that it’s pretty ironic that you’re the one excusing yourself when I was the one who almost ran you over. Don’t take it in the wrong way.”

He pushed back his hair with one hand and with the other proceeded to lift the helmet from his lap. “I should get going now seeing as I’m already late for work. So, see you around.” He finished with a small smile and lowered his helmet so that it now revealed only a portion of his freckle-strewn face.

He revved up the motorbike’s engine and steered toward the common parking area located two blocks or so from their part of the locality. Tsukishima let his eyes follow him until the latter took the turning and vanished from his view. He let out a partly relieved breath he hadn’t realised to be holding and murmured into the gradually vivifying air a silent, “See you.”

_ \-  _

“Gwaah! Neko smiled! Look Tsukishima, I swear she smiled at me!”

The person addressed looked over at Hinata, whose face was currently pressed against the 41-gallon breeder tank housing the fussiest of all reptiles. He exclaimed again, this time his words muffled as he wedged his face further against the tough glass. The python in question only coiled herself up and closed her slitted eyes. Tsukishima sniggered loudly into his palm. “She doesn’t give a shit about you. You can see it for yourself, can’t you.” He relished the double-edged look Hinata threw at him. _It takes ridiculously little effort to rile up this airhead._

“Also,” he carried on smirking wider and eyebrows lifted slyly, “please offer your valuable insight as to how a ball python can smile? I advise you to cover those ears of yours, or whatever intelligence is left inside of you will seep out.”

The mood inside the Tension Room exploded as Hinata snarled at Tsukishima, and Terushima held back the feral shrimp.

Over from the corner of the beige couch where Kenma was crouched (head bent precariously over his gaming console, thumbs twiddling adeptly and wriggling his socked feet in intervals) he sent a sour look at Tsukishima, the message ambiguous: was it _don’t bother Shoyo_ or _let me game in peace_? Knowing him, it could be both. Tsukishima merely shrugged at him, letting Kenma interpret the action.

Terushima, who had managed to calm down Hinata (most likely a pacification with a promise of free meat buns), now glanced warily at Neko snoozing in peace. “Say, how the hell are you guys and boss so chill about sharing the room with a killing machine?”

“Ball pythons are docile creatures.” Hinata, Tsukishima and Kenma recited in unison. Tsukishima emitted a vexed exhale and frowned at Terushima, “Can’t you give it a rest already? Every single day you question Neko’s legitimacy, we assure you and the cycle continues. If you’re so sceptical, why not stick your neck near her mouth?”

Terushima gawked at Tsukishima in horror. “What the actual fuck are you going on about? I don’t wanna get poisoned!”

“Neko can’t poison you, Yuuji. She’s a good girl.” Saeko Tsukishima stalked into the room, the heels of her stilettos clacking loudly on the tiles, a self-assured grin on her face. “There’s no need for you to fret. Hajime wouldn’t keep her if she were dangerous.”

She then knelt down to make kissing sounds at Neko, who ignored everything like the wise reptile she was. Tsukishima regarded his sister-in-law who was carrying an array of grocery store bags. “What’s the occasion? Are you and Akiteru holding a sake night again? Please don’t or I won’t be the one tending your hangovers tomorrow.”

Saeko laughed and bounded over to where Tsukishima was sitting, and threw a heavy arm around his neck, pulling him into an overzealous headlock. “Not at all, baby Kei. Your nee-san’s gonna cook an awesome oyakudon for her lovely husband and you’re coming over.”

Tsukishima, following an intense scuffle, managed to extract himself in one piece from the close bracket of Saeko’s arms. He coughed out a curt "fine" in response. 

Hinata rose once again from his spot and glowered at the bespectacled man. “Oi! What’s with the half-assed answer, Tsukishima-kun? Saeko nee-san makes the best oyakudon—no wait, she makes the best _everything_! You gotta be more grateful.” Before Tsukishima could reprimand his colleague, Saeko let out a breezy cackle. “Shoyo’s right. Your nee-san’s cooking is godsent. I don’t know what the hell you and your roommate eat every day, Kei. You’re skin and bones. You need to eat healthy and a lot.”

“I can’t help it, I’ve a small appetite.”

“That’s not an excuse, Kei.”

 _I wish she’d stop babying me_ , he grumbled internally. It wasn’t as if he minded her treatment towards him (in fact, he appreciated it at times) but Saeko tended to take things up a notch.

“Saeko-san, please don’t say that. You remind me a lot of Kuroo now.” Kenma had put down his console and shuffled beside Hinata.

Saeko blinked, “Eh? Who’s Kuroo?”

“My childhood friend.” Kenma muttered, his lips drawn together in a sullen pout. “He’s always on my case to eat more, sleep early, don’t play games before going to bed, wear warmer clothes–” he raked his hand through his pudding-hued hair–“sometimes I forget whether he’s my friend or mother.” Both Hinata and Terushima sniggered at the final remark, and Saeko raised her eyebrows inquisitively.

Tsukishima leaned forward to rest his elbows on top of his knees and stated dryly, “Not only that, but he was also my highschool volleyball team’s captain, and even now him and Bokuto—he was from our rival team—gang up on me and send annoying text messages every week.”

“I’m sorry about that. I’ll ask them to stop,” Kenma offered. Tsukishima denied it with a shake of his head, “Thanks but I’m used to it.”

“Oh yeah, speaking of messages,” Saeko perked up, “Kei, you—”

The sleek alder door opened and Iwaizumi Hajime barged in wearing a perplexed look and holding a bouquet of flowers. “Tsukishima, this is for you,” he announced in a blunt tone. A perplexed hush fell over the room. 

Tsukishima spoke up awkwardly, “Um, Iwaizumi-san, I’m Tsukishima,” he paused and studied his manager, “I’m not Oikawa-san.”

Iwaizumi let out an unamused chuckle at that and interjected gruffly, “You think? I meant that someone left these flowers and a thoughtful message for _you_ , smartass.”

 _For me?_ Tsukishima was stupefied. Who would give him flowers? He accepted them; a bunch of beautiful white tulips tied together with a bright yellow ribbon. Ignoring the catcalls from his now recovered co-workers, he hastened out to his tiny cubicle. He cautiously inspected behind him to confirm whether or not he was being followed or spied on. Now, the note.

It was carefully folded and taped on to the ribbon, the word ‘Tsukishima’ written in the centre with a pencil. He pulled off the paper, his fingers hesitant as if the note would combust. The edges of the paper were somewhat adhesive due to the tape. With a bated breath, Tsukishima opened the note. He was greeted by an agitated message penned in a cluttered scrawl:

_Hi! In case you’re confused, I’m the guy that almost knocked you over with my motorbike. I bothered with these formalities because I wasn’t confident in my apologies this morning so here it is!_

_I’m really sorry! It would’ve been bad if you got hit ~~haha~~_

_P.S. – Pls accept the flowers, I arranged them myself. White tulips mean apology in floral language according to Sugawara-kun, idk much about that (_ _￣▽￣_ _*)_ _ゞ_

_My name is Yamaguchi Tadashi btw, and I sent these flowers over when I found out you work here (I wasn’t keeping tabs on you! I just saw you enter the tattoo parlour! And one of my co-workers knows yours)_

_"White tulips mean apology."_

Tsukishima eyed the flowers, the familiar feeling of warmth that had now become associated with the Sunflower Man—no, Yamaguchi Tadashi—expanded heavily within his chest. And not to mention, _did that guy use a kaomoji in a written text?_ The florist was slowly but surely succeeding in chipping away Tsukishima’s tough front and they had met each other officially only once.

It wasn’t as if he hated flowers, but Tsukishima was rather indifferent to them (then again, he was indifferent to a lot of things). But he couldn’t bring himself to overlook the creamy white tulips. He rubbed one ovular pale petal between his thumb and forefinger, feeling the velvet-like texture.

_I swear to…_

With a sudden air of fervent resolve, Tsukishima emptied the horrid violet pen holder and filled it with water from the tap. He stalked back to his cubicle, the cold water in the holder sloshing up and wetting the back of his palm.

He glanced behind him once more (read: for certain pesky co-workers) and set down the violet disaster of a now-transformed flower vase. The ribbon holding the tulips together, crumpled slightly under his grip. Tsukishima untied the knot, letting the ribbon tumble onto his worktable. After aligning the flowers in his palm, he placed them inside the vase. _What the hell am I doing?_

“You’re right, Kei. The flowers are too pretty to be thrown away.”

Tsukishima let out an embarrassing yelp and whipped around to see his sister-in-law poking her head outside of the Employees Only room, a knowing grin on her face.

“I’m not joining you and Akiteru,” his flat voice only succeeded in making Saeko guffaw loud.

(And of course, he ended up attending the dinner party. The whole evening was a succession of him hoping that Saeko wouldn’t blurt about the flowers or Yamaguchi)

\-  __

The third time Tsukishima messed up the curve of his wolf’s snout, he almost raised the white flag. He put down his pencil and inspected his sketch closely. _Nope, this isn’t it._ He erased his barely-there drawing once again, a part of the paper beginning to shred. Tsukishima cursed under his breath. Seriously, this commission was costing him his sanity. It was a first that Iwaizumi actually volunteered Tsukishima for a custom commission, but even more so that he would also be the one reproducing the handiwork on his client’s skin.

That was a week ago, when one Tuesday evening Tsukishima’s client—a muscular man whose hair reminded him of a tennis ball walked in glaring daggers at every living being inside their studio (yes, he even glared at the orange bonsai tree kept by the reception desk).

The guy introduced himself as Kyoutani Kentarou, who was apparently Iwaizumi’s underclassman in highschool. He had asked for a frustratingly specific design: a snarling wolf with an arrow up its maw. When Tsukishima had inquired further, the man grumbled out that it was for his _significant other_.

Though Kyoutani hadn’t been picky about the deadline, wracking his brain for decent ideas was quite backbreaking. And having a pair of menacing eyes boring down on him every evening did not help much. Iwaizumi had simply pursed his lips when Tsukishima pointed out his client’s unnerving habit, and told him to endure it much to the latter’s chagrin.

Just when he was about to return to his commitment, he caught a flash of bleached blond out of the corner of his eye. Terushima. It had to be him. Tsukishima bit his lips as he hovered the hand clutching the pencil over the paper. His mind was lucid but he felt jittery all over. The feeling only escalated as he heard whispers from the Tension Room.

_That’s it._

He pushed himself off the swivelling chair and turned towards the epicentre of the disturbance. Both Iwaizumi and Saeko were busy with their respective clients and Kenma was on the phone, probably on line with an anxious first timer who wanted to know whether or not their equipment were disinfected regularly. As he reached closer to the Tension Room, he heard anguished whispers from the two troublemakers.

“She could be _anywhere_!”

“I know that, Terushima!”

“How did you even let her escape?”

“I–”

“Who let whom escape,” Tsukishima stepped in and was greeted by Hinata and Terushima’s panicked screeches, which in effect stopped their hushed discussion. “What did the two of you do this time?” Tsukishima propped himself against the doorway with one hand on his hip. “There is no room for lies, remember that.”

“Don’t rope me into this, it’s Hinata.” Terushima shuffled away from Hinata, who looked like he had been slapped. Under Tsukishima’s menacing stare, Hinata cringed and twisted his fingers together.

“Well, um...,” he shifted on his feet and turned towards Terushima, who now seemed thoroughly invested on the carpeted floor. Hinata hesitated, then screwed his eyes tight shut.

Before Tsukishima could ask him to hurry up and get on with it, the other man moved from where he stood in one swift motion. Tsukishima hadn’t noticed it when he had entered the room but now, he knew what the situation was. And it was very much worth the panic.

Neko was missing.

 _Missing._ He wondered for a fleeting moment, how in the world could a 4 feet long python disappear. A shiver ran through his spine as he imagined how Iwaizumi would react if Neko got out (which she had).

Sure, he wouldn’t fire them or anything, but he won’t at all be pleased with the potential chaos a loose python on the streets would cause. Tsukishima willed himself to stop the racing thoughts _. Focus on the situation on hand._

“What happened?”

Hinata blinked, “Neko escaped.” The obvious air in his response ticked the blond man off.

“Hinata,” he slowed down his speech as if talking to a toddler, “ you think I can’t see that? How did she get out? Where is she if you’ve any idea.”

“I was cleaning her tank.” Hinata ducked down his head. “And I forgot to close the lid. So, I think she got out from there.”

Tsukishima let out a deliberate exhale. The trouble now was to find Neko and frankly, he didn’t know where he was supposed to get down to. Hinata and Terushima’s worried looks, which no doubt mirrored his own, did little to help.

“Tsukishima, there’s a call for you.” Kenma was at the doorway, the ancient cordless telephone in his hand. He did not seem affected in the least of the strained aura emanating off of the others.

“Sorry, Kozume, but I really don’t have time to attend phone calls now—”

“It’s your friend from the flower shop.”

Kenma Kozume was a man of very few, and in some cases naught, words. But there were instances when he’d render the person he was speaking to speechless and gulping for a comeback.

And Tsukishima was that person now.

Sure, he had very well registered Kenma’s words, _but_ _he just did not know what the fuck he was supposed to do._ He could answer the call like any sane person, if not for his heart hammering like a rock against his chest, or for the unconstrained wild thoughts turning cartwheels in his head.

“They’ve Neko.”

That was quite enough to snap Tsukishima out of his inner turmoil. To his right, he heard Hinata gasp and contemplate the chances of Kageyama being the conspirer (Tsukishima, for both of their sakes, kept his mouth shut).

He accepted the phone from Kenma and uttered a curt greeting. After a second or so, he received a bright “Hey!”

Alright, Tsukishima knew awful well that he was being a dumbass, but hearing Yamaguchi’s voice—though tinny through the phone—so close to his ears did not help his stuttering pulse. He was glad that he had stepped out of the others’ earshot.

“It is me.” He then realised he probably sounded lame with that lukewarm introduction. “I mean, its Tsukishima.”

“Ah! Thank goodness you answered, the guy I was speaking to before seemed a bit out of it,” he let out a little snort, “so I asked for a tall man with glasses. Though it would’ve been embarrassing if there were another guy with glasses who just happened to be tall. I’m sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“Yes, you are.” Tsukishima smiled. “And you mentioned you had our python?”

“Umm, well about that. Tsukishima-san, could you look outside your main window please.”

“The main…window?”

“Yes. Or from the one you can see our shop quite easily.”

Tsukishima hummed in acknowledgement and shuffled towards the window beside Saeko’s cubicle. Just as he lifted the blinds, a strange sight caught his attention. Four men were standing outside the Bouquet of Love, the trademark pastel yellow of their aprons giving their status away as the florists.

“Assuming your silence, I understand you’ve assessed the situation?”

“ ‘Assessed’ is quite the overstatement. What are they doing out there?”

Yamaguchi sighed from the other end (Tsukishima did _not_ shudder just now). “The python is inside, and the others are kinda terrified.”

He did not wait for Tsukishima to respond and went on. “So, we would really appreciate it if you retrieved your pet.”

\-  __

Who knew that making a three-metre-long excursion to a seemingly harmless flower shop would be one of the most nerve-wracking moments in Tsukishima Kei’s twenty-three years too young life? And the two glaring men only succeeded in dampening his mood

(More like, only one of them, Kageyama, was glaring. The other one was pulling off an annoyed pout, reminding him of a toddler who was refused cotton candy).

“So, this is the guy whose friend has been harassin’ Tobio-kun, and now has Tadashi-kun’s life on the line. Quite the beanpole, aren’tcha?”

“Ok, that’s enough, Atsumu.”A quiet voice tinged with austerity.

Tsukishima knew him. It was Akaashi, one of the owners of the Bouquet of Love (and the source of Bokuto’s lovesickness). Akaashi turned to Tsukishima with an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry, but you can go on now. Yamaguchi is keeping an eye on your python, you needn’t worry. ”

“Its fine. Thanks.”

He stepped inside, his movements careful, and his eyes darted around at the interior.

Flowers everywhere.

Well, it wasn’t as if he was expecting anything else from a flower shop, but the sheer brightness of the colours and the sweet fragrance enveloping his surroundings, caught him off-guard. Outside, he heard a sharp smack followed by a yelp of pain and a whiny, “Ow! Suga-kun, no fair!”

Ignoring the commotion, Tsukishima ventured further inside, until he saw a figure crouched by a row of potted geraniums, ranging from the brilliant of whites to the duskiest purples. Tsukishima’s footsteps attracted the other figure’s attention, causing the other person to jerk their head upwards.

This was the second time he was face to face with Yamaguchi Tadashi, once again in a chance encounter. There was something about him that had changed since the last time they met. With a discerning start he knew the answer: the tips of Yamaguchi’s dark hair were frosted a soft ivory, which brought out the hickory shade of his eyes.

“We really need to stop bumping against each other like this,” Yamaguchi sighed, an amused grin flickering onto his freckled face. He leaned back on his heels, and pointed with his forefinger at a lone revolving chair standing solemnly near the large wooden desk Tsukishima had seen Yamaguchi work at a quite a few times.

There was Neko. She had looped herself around the arm of the chair into a tight ball, her triangular head tucked away from sight. Tsukishima couldn’t resist smirking at Neko’s coiled body.

“She’s asleep.” He turned towards Yamaguchi, who visibly relaxed at the former’s words. “When did she even get here?”

“I don’t know. I just heard Sugawara-san scream and we found it like this only.”

“Her.”

“Yes?”

“Neko’s a female.”

“Her,” Yamaguchi corrected himself, abashed. “Sorry.”

Tsukishima navigated through the thick bushes of hydrangeas to where Neko snoozed in peace. He knelt down, cancelling any sudden movements, and gently stroked the python’s squamous spine.

He repeated the process for a few more minutes till she started to stir. Neko retracted her neck from where it was tucked in earlier, and studied Tsukishima with sleep-disoriented eyes. She yawned, stretching her jaws wide open, revealing a salmon pink mouth.

“Come now, Neko. You’ve bothered the people here enough.” Tsukishima extended one arm towards her which she focused at for a moment or two. Slowly, she began to unwrap herself off the chair’s arm and slithered around Tsukishima’s. When she settled with a contented puff around his collarbones.

“I can see why her name is Neko.” Tsukishima picked up Yamaguchi’s part-awed and part-musing tone, and rounded his attention toward the florist. “She seems really quite domestic too. That’s one gullible snake.”

Yamaguchi tipped his head, expression quizzical and thin eyebrows raised high , resembling a watchful macaw (his yellow work apron only made the likeness even more uncanny). Tsukishima had to force himself to not to smile at the observation.

“Gullible is the last word to describe Neko,” he took measured steps through the floral labyrinth. “She’s the biggest diva there is. Whenever Hinata— uh, the guy who messes with Kageyama—approaches her, she always pretends to sleep. And she’s affectionate only with Iwaizumi-san and me. She straight-up hisses whenever she catches Terushima, another co-worker, within her line of sight.” Tsukishima revelled in the memory as he sniggered.

“So, she’s quite like Sugawara-san’s cat then,” Yamaguchi pondered, “he’s quite a lot like that.”

“Oi, Yamaguchi, don’t badmouth my poor Haku!” They had reached the entrance and Sugawara wore a petulant look on his face. His eyeballs followed Neko’s limp structure coiled around Tsukishima.

In fact, everyone except for Yamaguchi, appeared wary of the python. The blond one, Atsumu, lurked behind Akaashi, rubbing his ribs with a hint of a wince on his face. Kageyama had his hands stuffed deep inside his jean pockets, his stance defensive (or as defensive one could get with their hands in their pockets).

Tsukishima apologised for the trouble, which was quickly swept off by Yamaguchi, and trailed back to the Clipped Wing Crow.

_We really need to stop bumping against each other like this._

As Yamaguchi’s words came back to him, he couldn’t help but agree more.

\-  __

_ From: Koganegawa (10.37 p.m.) _

_ hey tsukki where r u  _

**_To: Koganegawa (10.45 p.m.)_ **

**_Just got out_ **

**_To: Koganegawa (10.45 p.m.)_ **

**_And don’t call me that or I will not buy you your black sesame cookies._ **

_From: Koganegawa (10.46 p.m.) _

_ok ok sorry pls buy my cookies i won’t call u tsukki again_ __:(´_ _ཀ_ _`_ _」_ _∠_ _):__

**_To: Koganegawa (10.46 p.m.)_ **

**_You just did, asshole._ **

**_[message unable to deliver]_ **

Tsukishima slid his phone inside his backpack as he entered the conbini to buy his roommate’s weeks’ worth of midnight snacks. He walked over to the aisle marked ‘COOKIES AND CHOCO’, making a mental note to have the large crack on his phone screen repaired (an unfortunate incident regarding an angry Kenma and a scalding afternoon, never a good combination).

He picked out Koganegawa’s preferred brand of black sesame cookies, the one with a red and white wrapping, and stocked around eight boxes in his shopping cart. He trudged down another aisle, this one marked ‘PASTRY’, and bought a slice of strawberry shortcake for himself.

The old lady by the register greeted him with a tired smile, which he returned, a tad awkward. While she checked his items, Tsukishima heard a faint ‘ping!’, alerting that he had a new message. He fished out his phone out of his backpack with one hand, and squinted at down at the notification

_ From: Akiteru (11.02 p.m.) _

_ Msbbfewyfkjabd _

Tsukishima locked his phone bit harsher than necessary. His brother had drunk-texted him the second time that month. It was either that, or he had officially qualified in Gibberish.

He accepted the carry bag from the counter lady with a quiet thanks and stepped outside in the cool night breeze. He dawdled for a moment to stow the bag of food and his phone inside his backpack when he sensed another presence beside his.

“Hey, Tsukishima-kun.”

Yamaguchi was waving at him, a disconcerted smile adorning his face. He sat on his infamous black motorbike; the engine turned off. He had removed his helmet which now dangled from one of the side-view mirrors.

Just like it always did whenever Yamaguchi was in his vicinity, Tsukishima’s heart sped up and his neck warmed up. He grew conscious of the little things: the pronounceable slouch in his figure after working on his commission the whole day, the dark circles under his eyes, the fogged-up edges of his glasses and his graphite-smudged fingertips.

 _Stop,_ he chided himself.

“Hello, Yamaguchi-kun. You’re here for a nightly shopping excursion too?” he patted himself on the back internally for not losing his composure. Yamaguchi scratched his cheek (a nervous tick, Tsukishima supposed) and inhaled in a deep breath.

“I was wondering if I could drop you off at your house.” He stopped, and the stable expression on his face morphed into a mortified one. “I mean, only if you want to! I just wanted to know you better. Be friends? Quite frankly, our chance encounters weren’t exactly peachy enough for a proper conversation.” He bit his lip after finishing his nervous outburst. Tsukishima, though taken aback, was pleased.

(There wasn’t any use avoiding his feelings seeing as his rational side was fighting a long-lost battle against his giddier and baseless side).

“Alright.”

Yamaguchi froze in his twitchy movements. “What?”

“Why are you so shocked when you were the one who asked, honestly.” Tsukishima demanded, drawing his lips together in a tiny curve of a smile. Yamaguchi recovered and shook his head so vigorously that Tsukishima thought that it would detach from his neck.

“It’s just that I wasn’t expecting a positive answer,” the other man admitted. Tsukishima made his way towards him and stood right next to the man’s motorbike.

“A positive answer?” he mimicked.

“Uh, yeah. You seem intimidating.”

_Okay…_

Tsukishima fixed his gaze on Yamaguchi, his eyes betraying the scepticism he felt. “Says the guy who wears leather, has piercings and probably even some tattoos.”

“That’s quite low to judge me by my appearance, isn’t it?” Yamaguchi’s mouth twitched sideways, all evidence of his previous jitters wiped away. “You don’t dress or look all that wild, but you give off this aura. It makes you a bit difficult to approach.”

“Really? Then I guess I _was_ wrong to deduce you a delinquent who works at a flower shop called ‘The Bouquet of Love.’ ”

Yamaguchi laughed at that and Tsukishima felt a surge of pride in his chest.

“You’re not allowed to lash at my workplace when you work at a place named the ‘Clipped Wing Crow’. It sounds more like it came out from a rip-off, C-list yakuza movie which never ran in the theatres for long.”

When Tsukishima thought that Yamaguchi had the personality similar to that of a kicked puppy, he took that back now.

Yamaguchi Tadashi was more like a hurricane just waiting to fluctuate his flow. His dynamic nature, quick-witted humour (almost rivalling his own) and a collected composure astonished and fascinated Tsukishima.

He shifted his gaze from the biker’s teasing grin and motioned at the pillion seat, “May I?”

“Of course.” Yamaguchi scooted forward a bit and buckled on his helmet. The movement caused the hem of his white t-shirt to lift subtly, revealing the likeness of a tattoo on his waist (Tsukishima bowed down his head in a lightning-quick motion, causing his neck to spasm).

“Hang on, lemme just—” He rifled inside the bag slung across his shoulder and produced another helmet. “Safety first.”

Even through the muffled quality of his voice, Tsukishima could clearly make out the unabridged elation emanating off of him. Tsukishima accepted the helmet with a nod of thanks, put it on and climbed on behind Yamaguchi. He hesitated before planting both of his palms on the other man’s shoulders.

“All set to go?” Yamaguchi questioned. He revved up the bike’s engine after his pillion passenger squeezed the former’s shoulder in approval. “Okay then, hold on well.”

It was his first time riding on a motorbike. It wasn’t as if he painted them a transportational hazard or the perfect objects for rule-breaking, not at all. In fact, he had been rather indifferent towards them until one fateful morning he saw Yamaguchi climb down from his bike, albeit stumbling a little.

Overall, it was neither a bad feeling nor a good one, when he considered the crooked angle his glasses were forced to accommodate on account of the helmet, and the chilly night breeze slapping against his nose with vigour.

The only acceptable thing he actually acknowledged was Yamaguchi’s warm and steady presence ahead of him, and the occasional remarks he called back (about the weather, a new T.V show, his neighbour who was evidently the spitting-image of a seagull or about the recent fast food joint he had experimented).

Tsukishima would sprinkle in a few salty comebacks here and there, all of which exuded delighted giggles from Yamaguchi (he would be lying if he said he wasn’t smug because of the latter’s reactions), and pointed out the directions to his residence.

Their muzzled banter kept on going despite the keen winds and the hints of drowsiness trickling into Tsukishima’s system. But they had to stop when he pointed forward at the approaching building.

“Right there,” he leaned in close and muttered by Yamaguchi’s ear.

He sensed a quaver run through Yamaguchi, then dismissed it as a mere figment of his imagination. _The cold air is getting to my head._ Yamaguchi halted at the complex’s main gate and waited till Tsukishima dismounted the motorbike. After adjusting his ruffled hair and the straps of his backpack, Tsukishima bowed, “Thanks for the ride.”

“No, no, it was the least I could do.”

“Oh. Well. I guess I better get going then. Have a safe journey back home.”

Just as Tsukishima moved, Yamaguchi yelped out, “Tsukishima-kun, one last thing!”

He paused and turned at the florist who now brandished a glossy slip of paper. His face was a brilliant shade of crimson and he licked his lips nervously.

All in all, the sight was too similar to that of a shoujo manga teenager confessing her love via a letter, much to Tsukishima’s discomfort.

“Just Tsukishima is fine.”

“O-ok. Tsukishima.” He fixed a determined look at him. “Here, I’ve a ticket to local music fest. So, I was wondering–” he faltered for a second then plowed on–“if you could join me tomorrow.”

If Tsukishima wasn’t flustered before, he sure was now. There was certain risk of him blurting out something senseless, and sever whatever the two of them had forged over the past few weeks. He held down his flailing nerves and forced out, “As friends?”

Yamaguchi squirmed slightly and admitted in small voice, “Well, I was hoping that it would be date. But its perfectly fine if went as friends! I don’t want you take a decision that would discomfit you.”

_This guy…_

He straightened himself up. “Why not both?”

“Um, what?”

“I said, why not both? After all, a date would be pretty dull if we go as strangers and stress only on its romantic aspect. If we go as friends, there would be lot more to look forward to, and we would actually look forward to the next step.” Tsukishima stopped and instantly regretted his worthless monologue. And Yamaguchi’s undecipherable expression only added to the lack of certainty.

_Great work, Kei._

“That sounds perfect.”

The jovial countenance reappeared onto his features. “Now that you say it, if go as friends it _will_ be even more fun. I guess I was getting a little too worked up. Oh, and here is your entry pass for the fest.”

“Yeah, thank you.” He accepted the ticket from Yamaguchi and perused the fancy text with interest. “A music festival, huh? I wonder what we might see there.”

“Actually, one of my friends gave these to me as a gift. He’s also participating,” Yamaguchi flipped over the paper and pointed among a column of neatly-printed lines, names of artists Tsukishima presumed, at one particular name along the bottom,

“There he is. Ennoshita Chikara. He'll be playing a violin concerto which he composed by himself.”

“A violin concerto? Sounds sublime.”

Yamaguchi grinned, his cheeks pink. “It is! And so are the other acts, I’m sure. I hope you like music though.”

“I do love music. Back in highschool, I would get scolded by my volleyball coach for wearing my headphones to practice, every now and then. He would never consider that I had simply forgotten to remove them, so I stopped caring.”

“Ha, I’ve to say that it sounds like something you would do. And do tell me more about your highschool days, won’t you? I used to be in the volleyball club too and I’d love to relate.”

Tsukishima hitched up a single brow in clarification, “Tomorrow afternoon then? I’ll leave work early then.”

“Yep, that’s right. I’ll look forward to it, Tsukishima.”

“The sentiment remains the same, Yamaguchi.” He bowed once again. “Good night.”

“Y-yeah, good night. See you tomorrow.”

Tsukishima waited by the gate, with his palm curled around one of its wrought-iron rails, as Yamaguchi brought the bike engine back to life and reversed it. After a merry wave of goodbye, which Tsukishima returned, he drove away leaving the echoes of a quiet motorised purr behind in the neighbourhood. He lingered near the entrance, enjoying the content atmosphere.

‘Ping!’

The nerve by Tsukishima’s temple throbbed in irritation at the uncalled-for disturbance. He extricated his cell from the side of his backpack. _Is it seriously too much to ask for a moment of peace and serenity these days?_

He unlocked his phone and blinked down at the cracked screen.

_ From: Koganegawa (11.39 p.m.) _

_ tsukki did u run away?! i need my cookies. i promise i womt leave the dirty dishes in the sink sorry!  _

~

**Author's Note:**

> That's it! If anyone noticed my very inexpilicit mention of Hoshiumi Korai, then congratulations. Plus, I thought it would be real "clever" when I named Suga's cat Haku (from Spirited Away), since both of them share the same voice actors (bear with me on that stupid joke).
> 
> Kudos and comments are my bosom companions I'll let you know (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)  
> And a big thanks for reading this!


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